CHAPTER THREE SABRINA
CHAPTER THREE
SAbrINA
I wake very early, my alarm beeping.
All I want is to burrow deep in the quilt, but that’s a luxury I haven’t been able to afford for a while now.
Plus, I need this time before everyone else is up to get a jumpstart on my day.
Peeling myself upright, I pull on my shorts and t-shirt, grab my boots, and leave my room for the kitchen.
Sometimes, it’s a little nippy going outside this early, so I snatch a blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it around my shoulders.
Then, I make a cup of coffee in one of Dad’s favorite stoneware mugs, the bumpy kind that’s too big and heavy for me, and go outside to the front porch.
Everything is bathed in gray light. Dad or Serena must have gotten up during the night and let the dogs out, because the Maligators are on the porch, heads on their paws. Billy lifts his head, sniffing the air. The Kid stays where he is, but he’s always been the lazier of the two.
I walk out into the yard, to the edge where we have a firepit and two wooden chairs, and sink down.
I have a lot to think about.
Mainly, the very attractive man living in the guesthouse.
Coen Taylor came out of left field; he’s not what I expected at all.
I was kind of thinking he’d be a douche in a rhinestone jacket and never-worn cowboy boots without a speck of mud or wear and tear.
Instead, I found a handsome man with soulful eyes and a thoughtful way of speaking.
He’s shockingly down to Earth. Unfortunately, he is exactly my type, straight to the past as a Wyoming wrangler himself.
God, I love a stressed out man who’s willing to get his hands dirty.
Unfortunately, this one is off-limits for so many different reasons.
I have enough going on anyway.
I can’t let myself look at him like that. I’m sure he’s used to dating mega rich celebrities. The girl working at his personal wellness retreat is not on the docket.
Taking a slow breath, I run my eyes over the line of gray mountains.
I know them so well. Around the time Mom moved away, I started getting up early and going to stare out at them.
They never give me any answers, but I feel small, and in that smallness, my problems shrink too.
Wyoming is a vast expanse. Sometimes, I feel like I can see where the world starts to curve.
I empty my mug and carry it back to the porch along with my blanket, setting them down before circling the house and heading to the barn. The wranglers are already awake and in the north barn, saddling up and riding out for the day.
It takes me a moment to wriggle up the heavy lock.
Then, I’m in the cool barn, wishing I’d grabbed my flannel.
Everything smells like sweet hay and grain and horses, the most comforting scent in the world.
Arms tucked against my sides, I go down the row to the end where my filly, Rosie, is housed.
She’s asleep, her chestnut coat gleaming in the faint light coming from her window.
“Hey,” I whisper.
She swings her head, blinking.
“You want to get some exercise?”
She blinks, and I take that as a yes. Taking down her lead rope, I open her door and slide in carefully.
She’s halter trained and pretty good at being led around, but she’s not perfect, so I move carefully in her stall.
Gently, I let her sniff my hand before I run it down her neck, letting her get used to me before clipping the lead on.
She’s feeling agreeable this morning, because she follows me out of the barn and into the back paddock without protest. I let her go and stand back while she trots in a circle.
Maybe I haven’t started breaking her because I love how free she is. I’ll never be that free, not with this ranch hanging over my head. It’s a confusing thing to grapple with; I love this land so much. I don’t want to leave, but I would do anything for a break, a chance to stretch my wings.
“Hey.”
I whip around, and Rosie skids to a halt.
Coen stands behind me, one lean arm resting on the fence.
He’s in the same clothes as last night: a creased black t-shirt and dark jeans.
Last night, I was looking everywhere but at him.
Today, I give myself the luxury of giving him a thorough once-over.
He’s lean and well-muscled—very nice arms and lean hands, I assume from playing guitar.
His face rests in sober lines, a nice mouth surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard.
I like the strong, narrow arch of his nose, a bump in the middle.
It’s the softness of his dark eyes that really makes me stop and stare, though.
I swallow. I’m staring for too long. He gives me a slow smile, and I have to blink a couple times to keep myself from getting caught up in it.
“Hi, sorry, you startled me,” I say, clearing my throat. “You sleep alright?”
He nods, eyes on Rosie. “Yeah, it’s real quiet out here.”
“Yes, it is.”
He doesn’t move. I’m not sure why he does this, sitting in silence.
“Uh…that’s your horse?” He gestures at Rosie.
I nod. “She’s not broken, though. I keep meaning to work with her, but with Dad retired, I don’t have the time anymore. Mostly we take out the older horses, Gabe and Samson.”
He moves to the gate. “You mind if I come in?”
“No, that’s fine.”
My heart picks up. I don’t know why. He comes in, and, suddenly, he’s right beside me, tall and handsome. He watches as Rosie moseys for a minute, then gives a combustive kick and starts trotting in circles again. She always gets zoomies in the morning.
“She seems like a good horse,” he says finally.
I nod, giving him a polite smile.
“Can I?” He gestures toward the lead in my hand.
My brows rise. “You know how to work with horses?”
He laughs, a short sound. “Yeah, it’s been a while, but I can work with horses.”
I pass the lead to him, and he coils it in one hand, making his way sideways around the paddock.
He doesn’t go directly to her, nor does he make eye contact.
Instead, he saunters like he has all the time in the world.
Rosie goes still, waiting. When he doesn’t go to her, she gets impatient and starts walking hesitantly over to him.
He finally turns to her and stays where he is.
She throws her head, like she’s trying to get him to come closer.
When he doesn’t, she gives up and sidles over to sniff his shoulder.
He puts his hand on her neck and pets her in a gentle stroke. I like how careful he is with everything.
I smile. “She wants to like you, I think.”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling.
Rosie sniffs his shoulder, and he puts his hand on her nose. They stay like that for a while, him petting her. Then, she pulls away abruptly and skids to the other side of the paddock. He shakes his head, coming back over.
“She’s feisty,” he says. “But I don’t think it’d be hard to train her. You want me to help?”
I’m taken aback. “You’re not how I thought you’d be,” I blurt out without meaning to.
“Why? Did you think I was going to roll up here like Elvis or something?”
Yes, but now that sounds silly. I shade my eyes.
“Maybe.”
He laughs. “I’m a producer.”
“You sing, write, and produce,” I correct.
He gives me a sideways stare. “I guess you probably looked me up, huh?”
Truthfully, last night, I snapped and typed his name into the search engine.
But only his Wikipedia page, which had so many attributions, it required an entire second page for his songwriting credits.
It appears Coen Taylor is the mastermind behind over half the music coming out of Nashville.
I wonder how that feels for him, knowing every hit on the radio has passed through his hands.
“You like writing country music?” I ask.
He’s quiet and then shrugs. “I am a writer by trade.”
I wait, unsure what that means. When he doesn’t respond, it gets awkward.
“You want to come inside?” I say finally. “I should start breakfast for Serena and Dad. And you should probably meet them.”
He nods. Silent, we go back through the barn. He’s the quiet, perceptive type. I feel his eyes soaking everything in as we cross the lawn. The dogs see him before he gets to the bottom of the porch steps. The Kid does a quick lap around him and then looks at me. Billy doesn’t get up.
“The dogs like you,” I say, smiling. “That means Dad will too.”
“Oh yeah?”
I nod. He puts out his hand, and The Kid licks it.
He doesn’t know it, but that’s the ultimate stamp of approval, second only to both Maligators escorting him to the front door.
Inside, I lead the way to the kitchen. Serena is already up, sitting at the breakfast bar.
She looks up, then down, then up again as she realizes who’s behind me.
I half expect her jaw to drop; instead, her eyes narrow, but not in a judgmental way.
Her expression is thoughtful more than anything.
“This is Coen,” I say, gesturing at him.
He gives her a polite smile, holding out his hand. She shakes it and gets up to circle him. She’s acting worse than the Maligators. It’s confusing, but as she comes back around, I realize what’s going on here.
Oh no, she’s going to try to set me up with him. She’s sizing him up, making mental notes, seeing how we look together.
I’ve been here before.
“You mind making everyone coffee?” I say firmly.
“Yeah, I can,” she says, backing up without taking her eyes off him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says.
She jerks her chin as she grabs two extra cups and starts fixing coffee. I glance at the clock. We have less than a minute before I hear Dad shuffling from the office.
“Serena, did you help Dad downstairs earlier?”
She shakes her head. “He got up during the night and let the dogs out.”
Frowning, I stomp down the hall and yank open the office door. He’s circling the desk, where I can see the obvious indent of where he slept in his chair.
“Did you come downstairs without help last night?” I scowl.
He waves a hand. “I’m fine.”
“Dad–”
“Brina, I’m fine.” He manages to get up some speed so he can get past me before I can light into him again. “Let’s go meet this young man from Nashville.”
I don’t correct him that Coen’s from Wyoming.
Instead, I take a beat and take a breath.
Dad is getting older, but he’s still a grown man, and I don’t want to be the stifling helicopter kid, always nagging him.
It’s just…I have a knot in my chest, worrying about him falling when I’m not around to call the paramedics.
The thought of him on the office floor in the dark turns my stomach.
“Brina!”
It’s my sister. I go back into the kitchen to find Dad sitting at the breakfast bar with Coen, already chatting.
Dad has his phone out, showing him something.
If I had to guess, probably photos of the guitar collection he has in storage.
I wonder how long it’ll take him before he’s asking me to drive him down to the unit to get one of them out.
“You want to go out this morning?” Serena asks.
“Like to the diner?”
She nods. “I just don’t feel like cooking right now.”
“It’s fine,” I say, looking around. “Hey, Dad. And Coen. You want to drive into town and have breakfast at the diner?”
Dad perks up. Usually, I’m too busy to go out with him, and I know how much he likes going into town. Coen sinks back, taking everything in with his thoughtful stare.
“You all don’t have to take me along. I know I’m intruding–”
“No, you better come along,” Dad says, easing himself off the stool. “Let me go get dressed. And no, Brina, I don’t need help getting upstairs.”
He doesn’t say it in a mean way. He says it gently, affectionately, but I still feel the sting of rejection.
“I’m gonna go get dressed too,” I say.
Coen nods, and I leave him with Serena. She loves talking, and she’ll figure out how to keep him occupied for a few minutes.
Outside, I feed the Maligators on the porch and take a second for myself, looking around the ranch.
It’s Saturday, so half the staff has a day off.
Next week, they’ll rotate out. That means it’s just a little bit quieter than usual, but things are still moving.
I take a breath of clear air and hold.
It’s so beautiful here.
Maybe all this stress, all these things that weigh me down, are worth it. This is my home, my family, and the only place I’ve ever imagined myself living. Of course, I’ll always have a piece of my heart in New York with Mom and Hugh, but this is the piece of land that flows through my veins.
I lean on the porch railing, resting my head against the smooth wood.
How many times have I stood here like this and imagined going somewhere else?
More times than I can count. I just wish my heart knew itself better, because right now, it’s always battling against the desire to leave and the deep need to stay.
Maybe if Dad and Serena didn’t need me so badly, I would know myself better.
For so long, everything was perfectly balanced. Then, Dad had to retire, and I had to step up. Now, everything is all wrong.
Now, I’m all wrong.
My heart is pulled in two different directions, and I don’t have anyone to talk to about it.
If I told Serena, she would lie and tell me to leave.
I can’t do that; she’s my little sister, and I’m not leaving her with all these burdens.
She’s always been eager to help, so I learned to keep my problems bottled up.
I protected her in the divorce, in all the pitfalls of growing up, in keeping the dirty secrets of our family hidden.
It doesn’t matter how old she gets. I’m the reason we live here and not in New York. It’s my job to carry the difficult things.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, force a smile on my face, and open them. Familiar mountains and fields fill my vision.
This is my beautiful home.